


A Gust of Wind

by LaerAduial



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A short scene where Finduilas as an orc-captive is beaten, Battle memories, Ch. 2: Character backstory, Ch. 2: Detailed female nudity, Ch. 2: Elven Wedding, Ch. 2: Highly-detailed lesbian love-making, Ch. 2: Scars, Ch. 3: End of the First Age, Ch. 3: Final fate of Túrin & Morwen, Ch. 3: Mortal death (nothing tragic), Elf 'magic', Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/F, Memory Loss, Nudity, Orc slaying, Romance, Second Base, Self-Rescuing Princess, hand kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 01:25:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6402958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaerAduial/pseuds/LaerAduial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finduilas’ eyes drifted closed as she kissed again.  The woman gasped as she felt the tip of the elf’s tongue dart against her skin.</p><p>Excerpt:<br/>Before nightfall, the rebellion began.  Noldorin hearts were not easily defeated.  The prisoner camps were in chaos.  Finduilas was one of the first freed and with a previously plundered Elven dagger; she cut the ropes of as many captives as she could.  Regrettably, she could not free them all.  Any who escaped that night ran wild in the woods.  She was one of the unlucky ones who had been recaptured.  </p><p>She witnessed others rounded up, chained together, and led away.  She feared they would be taken to Angband, as Gwindor had been, but could do nothing to stop it.  <em>Why have I been spared the chain?  Should I not at least share the fate of my people? </em>  She had no idea why she had been held back from enslavement.  She was too scared and weary to do more than watch and weep.  But, the anger and shame of being unable to act burned into her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A sudden gust stirred the trees.  A storm was blowing in and Finduilas saw petals on the wind.  She was surprised as she knew of no orchard nearby, and yet seeking the source, she found the clearing that did, indeed, have wild and untended fruit trees blossoming.  How they had come there, she did not know, but near the base of one such tree, a fair woman, unclothed, with unbound hair, lay as if dead.

Finduilas feared orc-work.  As she knew well what could transpire at enemy hands, though the body appeared unbroken, she was loath to inspect it closely.  A fell shadow lay about it.  A child of Men would be lucky if their only fate had been death.  She began to collect stones into a pile.  Though she did not have the time to stray so long or so far in the woods, she could not leave a maiden unburied to be ravaged by beasts.  The sky began to rumble and the clouds, which had threatened storm, kept their promise.  Rain poured down and the soft ground turned to mud.  If it were not for a litter of leaves and petals, Niënor may have been drown.  As she was lying prone, water upon the leaves near her face interrupted her shallow breathing, and the elleth heard her cough. 

 _She lives!_  She dropped the stones in her hands and moved swiftly to the girl.  Had she looked closely, as the Eldar can see the unseen, she would have noticed the _fëa_ though shadowed had not left the girl.  Something about the realization that life still stirred made Finduilas very glad though she did not know why or what she would with the woman, comely as she was.  She removed her cloak, draped it around the woman’s bare shoulders, sat her up, and tried to rouse her.  She brushed bits of wet leaves and petals from her cheek, and Niënor awoke slowly in the arms of the fair elf-maiden.

Finduilas no longer dressed in silks and fine linen with rich embroidery, silver thread, and assorted jewels.  She was clad simply, but well, in soft skins and fur.  She was tall and swift, and she had grown quickly strong in the many weeks since her escape.  Her long, golden hair was woven into side braids that led to a large gathering plait that fell down her back and kept it neatly out of the way.  Her green eyes were keen and observant.

The woman in her arms had beautiful flaxen hair, though somewhat muddy, and now dark and soaked through.  Lifting the cloak aside, though the woman shivered, she inspected the woman for injury before protectively wrapping her up again.  She seemed unharmed.  The young woman was not very tall, by the Elda’s view, but full-figured and well formed.  She had never been personally acquainted with a woman of Men before and found she was somewhat interested in their comparative differences.  But, this was not the time.  The woods were unsafe, _yrch_ could be about, and something was not right with this girl.  She could see it in her _fëa_.

 

****

 

“What is your name, dear maiden?” Finduilas’ gentle question was met only with tears. The bewildered and rain-soaked girl could only weep.  The elf helped her dry with a soft deerskin.  Darkness was upon her mind and shadow was in her heart.  She could not speak and scarce could think.  Finduilas, as an Elda, could see the darkness that ensnared the girl, but could not lift it all at once.  She offered comfort instead.  

Instructing the girl to stay within the confines of the cave, she was met with confused silence.  _Did she not understand spoken language?  Surely she must._   She wondered if she should bind her for her own safety.  It would not do to have her wander out of the cave’s entrance and tumble down the rocky path.  As a precaution, she looped a bit of rough woven rope about the girl’s right ankle and tied it securely to a deeply driven post, which was part of a storage shelter.  She then laid furs and soft, tanned hide down near the post as bedding so the girl could rest.  After attending to the mute and nearly witless woman, who kept letting the cloak slip from her shoulders, she secured the entrance to the cave and went hunting.

 

****

 

“Are you saddened by this, too? For the rabbit that lost its life for meat and fur?” 

The learned elf had spoken to her in both the Mannish language, Taliska, and the common Elven tongue, Sindarin, but she had been met equally with unresponsiveness.  The young woman had been untied and was not concerned with being bound or unbound.  She did not seem to be concerned with much of anything.  She stared into nothing and wept or fell silent. 

Finduilas watched her for a moment and then went outside.  She carefully tied the delicate rabbit fur to a small frame, and cleaned it with a smooth, sharp stone then set it in the sun for later tending.  She washed before returning inside.

The silent woman stared at the skinned and cleaned carcass that laid near a spit and looked as if she were, yet again, about to cry.  Finduilas sighed, “I am quick and careful if that is any comfort to you. The hare did not suffer at my hand.”  She began preparing the meal of rabbit meat and foraged vegetables.  _If she cries for a rabbit, what will she do when I return with a deer?  Perhaps I should have brought fish._   

Sometime later the simple meal was served on a length of clean, smooth bark.  She set it between them, but the woman would not eat.

Finduilas noticed that her quiet companion was frustrated more than sad, which led to her profuse tears.  Looking deeply into her eyes, she saw clouds and decided to try another approach.  “Eat,” she said firmly and handed a small piece of food to the girl.  The woman did nothing.  She reached further across the space between them and held it to her mouth.  The woman accepted the small morsel between her lips and ate instinctively, and after that moment, some of herself returned to her.  There was a wholesomeness in any craft partaken of by an elf, even in simple tasks like cooking, and the nature of that helped her feel, at least a little, better.  The haze of darkness began to ease away from the edges of her mind.

Finduilas saw the difference and smiled. She offered the woman water and she drank on her own. It was a start.

 

****

 

Weeks had gone by.  Her bouts of crying had grown less.  The woman was recovering, but still mostly silent.  She was responsive and alert, curious and watchful, but beyond a few words of agreement or disagreement, there was no conversation to be had. 

Elves like to talk and having been alone, after such tragedy, had been hard on Finduilas.  She wanted someone to speak with and not just someone to listen to her and nod politely or shake her head occasionally to the contrary. 

“I cannot keep calling you woman or girl,” she said while sitting with her companion one afternoon.  Finduilas was fletching arrows, bowcraft and archery had come surprisingly naturally to her in the wild, while she watched the careful woman prepare soft hide for stitching with a slender, bone awl. The elleth smiled as she watched the pretty girl work.  She learned very quickly.

The woman looked up and gave her a small, apologetic smile. 

Finduilas implored again, “tell me your name!” She was quite insistent.

The awl went still and the girl’s hand began to tremble.  Finduilas knew the sign at once and clasped her arm gently, “it is well, forgive me,” she considered a moment then said, “there is another way.”  She lifted the awl lightly from the woman’s hand and traced her name, with the phrase ‘my name is’ on the hide, just a light scratching on the surface, in Tengwar.  “If you cannot speak, perhaps you can write,” and she scratched the same again, in Cirth, “can you read this?” she asked encouragingly, “can you write your name?”  She turned the writing towards her, placed the awl back in the young woman’s hand, and held her hand lightly near the surface of the leather.

The girl puzzled over the signs, and her brows were knit in her concentration.  Finduilas stroked her other arm soothingly, comfortingly.  There was no rush.

Shapes.  Ideas.   _Memories._  A beautiful dark haired woman.  A wax tablet.  A small stylus of wood.  A hand covering her own, guiding, talking softly.   _Letters._  Her mother!

“Niënor!” the name burst out of her lips on a gasp of memory and pain. “My mother called me Niënor.”  She could not remember much beyond that, dropped the awl, and began to weep.

Pushing the tools aside, Finduilas took her into her arms and held her close.  She kissed her brow and stroked her smooth hair, “there now, there, it is well.  I have you.  You remembered your mother?” She kissed her forehead again and then a tear-streaked cheek.  Her green eyes smiled into the cloudy light eyes of her friend, Niënor.  “Though you often cry, _Mourning_ , is not a very nice name.  Why did your mother bestow that name upon you?”

Niënor could not recall all at once and thought for a few moments.  The elf-maiden waited.   The words came slowly, “I think . . . she was sad . . . when I was born.  My father,” she paused, unsure, searching her memory for the sighting of a man she could not recall that she had, indeed, never seen, “was not there.”  Hesitantly she added, “I think . . . or cannot remember.”

Finduilas nodded in understanding.  She knew many things now, outside the protected realm of Nargothrond, war took lives and so long as the Shadow marred Arda, there would be war.  War destroyed homes and families.  This child must have lost her father in battle, and her mother bore her alone.  Finduilas thought of her family and of those lost and captured in Nargothrond.  She was led away while crying out to her love.  She screamed for him with all her heart, and he did nothing.  Túrin had stood still before the great wyrm as she was dragged away with the other captives.  It seemed so long ago.

 

****

 

Before nightfall, the rebellion began.  Noldorin hearts were not easily defeated.  The prisoner camps were in chaos.  Finduilas was one of the first freed and with a previously plundered dagger; she cut the ropes of as many captives as she could.  Regrettably, she could not free them all.  Any who escaped that night ran wild in the woods.  She was one of the unlucky ones who had been recaptured. 

She witnessed others rounded up, chained together, and led away.  She feared they would be taken to Angband, as Gwindor had been, but could do nothing to stop it.  _Why have I been spared the chain?  Should I not at least share the fate of my people?_   She had no understanding of why she had been held back from enslavement.  She was too scared and weary to do more than watch and weep.  But, the anger and shame of being unable to act burned into her. 

In fury and anguish, all she could think was: _Why had Túrin not come?_  Blaming him then for all that had happened, the state she was in, and the loss of her kith and kin, she screamed so loud and fiercely that her captors cowered before her.  She made a grab for the club of the one closest to her and dealt him such a clout to the head that she heard bone crack before the orc fell.  That was enough to make the blood-thirsty _yrch_ react, the moment of surprise had passed, and before she could turn to run, she was struck so hard that she fell to her knees.

She was dazed. A cut above her right eyebrow ran blood into her eye leaving her half-blind, and just as she tried to wipe it away to clear her sight, the beating began. The orc's lash was cruel and barbed.  It was created for the enslavement of elves and meant to weaken and demoralize its victims.  She quickly lost consciousness and had no waking memory until she was brought to the tree.  An orc propped her up as another ran the rope about the trunk.  She felt that and did not resist.  Though her back was afire and she was sick with pain, she managed to stand mostly on her own, perhaps as a remnant of her broken pride.  After two turns about the tree, she was left to the single spearman.  Her captors were busy with other prisoners.  Her retaliation had caused another ruckus, and she was thought to now be too weak to cause any more trouble. 

An idea came to her through the fog of agony.  The rope was not taut. Fainting again, seemingly from weakness and pain, made the loops slip, though they did not fall, and when the remaining turns were done and the rope tied off, it was only just enough to keep her somewhat upright. 

The orc spearman, left under orders to finish tying her up and make an example of her, had been lazy.  The Elven dagger was hidden in what was left of her gown, and beneath the loose rope, she could move just enough to reach the hilt with her finger tips.  While the orc spat and cursed about a sore arm and split knuckles, she appeared seemingly lifeless, and, with the steady hands and patience of her kind, she slowly cut her bonds.  

  _A storm of memory._   Black blood on her hands, splattered on her dirty gown, soiling her golden hair, and the stolen blade in her hand.  That spearman should have tied her bonds more securely if he wished to keep a woman of the Eldar at bay.  She smiled wryly to herself.  _Much had changed._

 

****

 

 Niënor watched a shadow of sorrow then anger pass over the fair face of the elleth.  Elves are terrible in their anger and Niënor saw the light of the elleth’s spirit flash in her eyes.  Words were coming easier now and she asked, “are you well?”  She touched the woman lightly and was surprised when Finduilas started as if she fell back into herself from elsewhere.

Fully aware, the elf answered, “I am quite well, thank you.”  She smiled and it was warm.  The memory had passed. Her look became thoughtful, “I do not think I shall call you Mourning.  You shall have another name.”

“But that is the name I was given,” Niënor protested.  Though it was a sad name, it was her own, and she had only just remembered it.

“Then I shall give you another, perhaps, just for us, yes?”

Niënor looked a bit puzzled.

“It is called an _epessë_ , or after name, and when I found you, I saw flower blossoms in the wind just before an evening storm.  Do you remember?” 

Niënor shook her head no, “I remember little from that night, except,” she blushed a little at her next words, “for your beautiful eyes looking down at me.”

Finduilas was startled, then smiled and felt a flush tinge her own pale skin when she recalled her general inspection of the unclothed maiden.  Even the tips of her ears began to feel hot during this recollection.  _It had simply been to look for injuries_ , she told herself.  However, that did not stop her from helping the young woman bathe, somewhat leisurely, during her recuperation.  And, perhaps, taking a little longer than was particularly necessary to make the woman her own dress, claiming, of course, that her own were too big for the smaller woman and other materials had to be gathered and prepared.  Niënor had been precariously wrapped in Finduilas’ cloak for some days.  _It was a bit of mischief to tease a child of Men, nothing more,_ she assured herself. 

Assessing the woman now, in her simple dress, that had been painstakingly embroidered by her own mortal hand, with fruit and herb stained twists of simple thread, into a pattern of field flowers, she was decisive.  A prettier name would suit her well. “Gwallith,” she announced.  “It means, blossoms, for you are just as fair as flowers.”

“Gwallith,” she tried the sound of the name and smiled.  It was the first real smile Finduilas had ever seen on the woman, and it was dawn after an evening of dreary rain. 

The elf-maiden moved closer.  “I am glad,” she said sweeping an errant lock of hair from the maiden’s brow as moved the tools out of the way and sat next to her, “that the name pleases you.”  Her green eyes were a shade darker as she admired the fine features of Gwallith’s face.  She was nigh as fair as any elf-maid she had ever seen, yet she was of Men.  She marveled at that and contemplated her soft cheek and smooth brow.  The woman’s grey eyes seemed more of a gentle blue today as she smiled up at her friend and moved to encircle her shoulders with her arm. 

Finduilas, at first, did not move as she studied the woman who lightly embraced her.  The woman’s body was warm and soft against her arm, which she then moved, to allow the girl to press closer to her side as she hugged her.  Finduilas moved her arm around her companion and pulled her nearer, as if to mirror the gentle side-embrace, but she turned the woman in a deft movement.  Being half-spun into the elf’s arms and facing her so suddenly, Gwallith gasped and almost laughed, as if it were a game, but Finduilas looked so intense that the laugh ebbed into a breathy, ‘ _ha-_ ’.

“Finduilas?” the woman asked.  The elf had never looked at her like that before.  She reached up to touch the elleth’s face, but Finduilas caught her hand as soon as it was raised and pressed it to her own, soft lips.  All the while, her eyes watched the woman, unwaveringly. 

The elf’s heart was beating with a quickened pace.  With gentle, tapered fingertips, she caressed the woman’s wrist, and felt the pulse rate increase as she kissed the woman’s hand again.  Gwallith’s hand had slipped from the elf’s shoulder and began to explore her back with tentative petting.  Finduilas’ eyes drifted closed as she kissed again.  The woman gasped as she felt the tip of the elf’s tongue dart against her skin.  The green eyes opened again and gazed deeply into the woman’s. 

They were so intense that Gwallith felt faint, and her hand shyly fell away from her companion.  Feeling this response, Finduilas was immediately concerned and released her hand.  Removing her cloak, she swiftly folded it, and laid the woman back upon it.  “Are you . . .”

Leaving the question half unasked, Gwallith quickly answered, “I am fine . . . I,” she stopped short and smiled. Then she could not help but blush as she raised her friend’s hand to her own lips and kissed it.  She felt so strange and yet so wonderful.  Finduilas was a bit surprised but glad as well.  So, contentedly, she laid down beside her companion, caressing her arm lightly while waiting for the woman to speak. “I think,” she continued after a short pause, “that qualifies as courting.”  She looked with a side-glance to Finduilas who propped herself up on one arm.  The elf smiled and nodded.

Finduilas had been courted and courted before--once by Gwindor, who had named her Faelivrin, and once towards a man who had left her to die.  Gwindor returned to her broken and changed, and though she dutifully tried to love him again, the one who he had been, was no more.  It was hard to love again one whom she had already mourned.  Her heart had already accepted his death.  And when Túrin left her in bonds, her heart had mourned him keenly.  She had had enough of mourning.  Now, there would be something else.  Her mind played with the idea of courtship with this woman.  She looked at the embroidered flowers along the neckline of Gwallith’s gown and traced them with her fingertips.

“You are so lovely, my sweet flower,” once Finduilas had said the words aloud, she was a little surprised.  W _hen did I begin to think of the woman in this way?_   She had always thought Niënor was beautiful even when she was tearful and silent.  There was a deep gentleness in her thoughtful gaze, and an eagerness with her craftsmanship that was admirable.  _When did I begin to love?_   She remembered the maiden found in the forest, presumed dead, and found only pity in that thought.  She remembered the girl, naked in her arms, half-clad in her cloak, and remembered curiosity.  She recalled the grey eyes staring bewildered into her own and remembered protectiveness.  _But love?  When?_

The elf was bemused by her thoughts as the Eldar sometimes drift otherwhere in the layers of their memories while still purposefully awake, and she did not fully realize that her fingertips had drifted from the woman’s neckline to trace down the simple lacing of the gown and across the full mound of her right breast.  She was gently fondling the woman’s soft breast, which more than filled her hand, as she returned from her reverie at the sound of Gwallith’s quiet panting.  She glanced at what she had been doing, knowingly and yet unknowingly, and watched her fingers play over the soft deerskin, teasing the little peak of the woman’s nipple.  She looked at Gwallith’s face.  Her eyes had closed and she was caressing the elf’s arm.  Finduilas knew, that between them, there was no coercion or unbalanced affection.  Passion had stirred them both, but unsure still of the maiden’s heart, her hand withdrew.

Were they to join, it would be no idle tumble, as she had learned Men, at times, consider their partner for little else.  A stolen kiss or two with Túrin had shown her that.  An impassioned embrace that she mistook for love requited. But, he had turned from her in her greatest need.  The fickle hearts of Men were unmatched for the Eldar.  For the Secondborn, touching was not proof of love.  She had to be careful lest this fair flower steal and destroy what was left of her heart.  _Let Gwallith come to me._

Gwallith’s eyes fluttered open, and she stifled her protest when she felt that Finduilas’ hand had left her willing body.  It had felt so good, but something was wrong.  She saw it and felt it around them.  _Have I done something?_   She raised the elf’s hand to her lips and kissed it again, reverently, to assure her that nothing was amiss.  Finduilas smiled and caressed a tress of the woman’s hair, watching the pale silk slip through her fingertips, and then arose.

“It is time to hunt,” she said.  She picked up her bow and quiver as she walked out of the stony alcove where they had been working.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Niënor had few memories of anyone other than her mother and Men near her land that she had been kept from. There were people loyal to her mother and men among those, and she recalled whispered meetings with a childhood friend, who offered to take here away from all peril and keep her safe. She was sorely tempted, but could not bear to be parted from Morwen. Niënor had been a very shy and reserved child. Her mother's love ran like a deep river, but the surface was calm. She was not overly affectionate.

When Niënor saw the kind swain's deep emotion, her old friendship with him kindled a feeling of affection towards him. It was a strange juxaposition when she also recalled her reaction to their first kisses and the clumsy, impassioned grope of his large hands as they hid in the shadow of an outbuilding. It puzzled her that his advances had left her shaken and a little repulsed because she had truly been fond of him. At their subsequent assignation, she had coolly rebuffed him and the kind, young man became bitter towards her. Niënor did not understand how their friendship had frosted over so quickly. Her called her a cold and unfeeling woman, just like her mother. They spoke little after that.

****

They had grown up together and played often as children.  Whatever merry time she could recall in fragments of those grim days, was with that sandy-haired, brown eyed boy.  He was one of the few who could who could bring forth smiles and laughter from Niënor.  

When she became a young lady, her mother disapproved of the young man, a household servant, spending time with her daughter.  Though she saw him as beneath her daughter’s station, unless they fled, Morwen knew no other suitors could be found for her daughter.  And, if the young man took her far away, she may be kept save from thralldom, forced marriage, or worse.  But, this was not expressed, and she kept her child jealously close. 

To Niënor, it seemed natural to accept the blossoming of his friendship into courtship.  At first, it was quite acceptable.  There were walks in the early morning or evening, small handmade gifts, and laughter.  Whenever he was sad or cross, she used to kiss the little freckles that were liberally sprinkled over his nose and cheeks.  When they were small, he would push her away and wipe his face with the back of his sleeve.  She would laugh at his dismay, and he would usually go home complaining about her bothering him.  There was no end to the teasing he later received for that.  As they grew older, he did not push her away quite so often.  

She had thought, naively, that marriage would be the same-- an extension of friendship with peck kisses, hugs about the neck, and teasing laughter.  Children would just somehow happen, and they would all live together and be merry, in some simple home, far from the reach of the Enemy’s hand.  Her mother could come with them away from the sadness that haunted her. 

In the long absence of their lord, feckless servants slowly drifted away from the hall and its now modest landholdings near the foot of Amon Darthir.  The young yeoman, became one of those drifters who sought better, safer service elsewhere.  The fine hall and its surroundings fell into disrepair, with few fields left that had not gone to seed.   Any livestock which strayed too far were stolen by the Easterlings.  It was only a strange fear of Morwen that kept them from sacking the house outright though they pressed ever nearer.

But there were stouthearted Bëorian folk who stood steadfastly by their lady, to keep and defend the land and its holdings, so long as she remained there.  Their own lady labored beside them to stubbornly preserve her lord’s home.   And for this, she was well respected by them.  Others deemed it foolish that she had not yet fled.

Try as she might, Niënor could not recall the name of her mother, though she remembered her face well, and saw dream-like, but clear glimpses of her moments of sadness and suffering. Although she knew instinctively that she had been told, and almost half-remembered her mother saying his name and speaking to her of him, the name of her father always slipped away into a darkness she could not penetrate.  The name of her old friend also evaded any effort she made towards its recollection.  Granted, she did not strive very hard. 

It was wearying to force oneself to always try to remember.  Her days as a young maid were known to her only as flickers of light in the darkness that overcame her when she slept.  Sometimes she recalled more than other times, but too much had been lost.  She gave up most of it to live in the present. 

 

****

 

The present was filled with Finduilas. Gwallith’s curiosity had been more than stirred by the elf she lived with now.  She did whatever she could to be of help and service to her.   Her admiration for the Elven lady could not be concealed.  She blushed every time the elleth caught her staring, which was often.  Though both would, mercifully, pretend it had not happened.  Finduilas would sometimes find small tokens; little handicrafts from the maiden’s work.  These endearments she treasured and kept, as one may, in such a simple space.

One morning, as Gwallith hand-spun plant fibers onto a spindle, she remembered the words of the yeoman, "you are just as cold and unfeeling as your mother."   As the menial task let her mind wander, she thought upon those words and wondered at their truth. _Was I cold?_   Though her mother was indeed called such, in hushed whispers within their near-empty halls, for sending someone, she could not remember who, away long ago.  But, they had not known Morwen as she did. Until the day they journeyed from that place, her mother would look for the man who had left for battle. She realized or assumed that her mother had lingered in the halls, upon one reason or another, despite having every reason to go, for she stubbornly wished to be there when and if her lord returned. He never did.

If that sad desperation was love, which sent her mother running to window above the courtyard in the dark of night, when she thought she heard her father's steed, Niënor was not sure she wanted it. But, when Finduilas had kissed her hand, it was no passing fancy of courtly love. Her gaze had been deep and true. She had felt something within her warm to the elleth's touch and her caresses were wholly different than the young man's had been. As if knowing her, being close to her, was what should have always been. Even if they were to dwell together as little more than dear friends, Gwallith was content.  When she looked at Finduilas, she felt far from cold.  

Though their rough, cavernous refuge in the forest, was a far cry from the glory and splendor of Nargothrond, each worked to make it their home.  Under her tutelage, Gwallith helped and was glad to do so.  She learned much of plants, healing arts, animals, and crafts.  And the name for each thing was given, two or three times over. 

 

****

 

Towards the back of the cavern, a small spring of clear, sweet water bubbled up into a pool that ran out, through the living rock, to empty into the stream not far from the stony foothills of Andram.  Many caverns could be found in these hills, but the presence of this spring, and its discreet entrance, was why Finduilas chose this one for her forest refuge.  Its natural form had been hewn and augmented before she came, but it was abandoned long ago.  There were even places where one could feel fresh air flow in through some secret vents.  Smoke wafted away from cooking fires lit inside the cave.  Near the pool, there was a narrow shaft where sunlight filtered in and, on fine evenings, one could glimpse a few stars.  She sometimes wondered who had lived here before her.   

With skill learned from her great-uncle, Finrod, she was able to set certain protections about the cave, to secure the entrance, to deter predators, and generally to make the location wholly unremarkable to anyone who may stumble upon it.  It was a short, rocky path from the hidden cave entrance down to the forest floor, and the message about that place was: _there was nothing here for anyone and no reason to stay._  That was the enchantment laid upon that locale to any who came uninvited.  Gwallith knew this was done for their protection and though she had witnessed some of it; she did not understand it.  There was much about the elf she did not understand.

She did not understand how their courtship had become only soft glances and smiles.  They rarely touched, and she missed it.  Gwallith was always left to bathe alone now, even when she invited her friend when she ventured out to the stream on fair days, and Finduilas no longer took rest next to her.  When Gwallith asked why such things had changed, Finduilas replied that, “you can do much for yourself now, and you sleep far more than I ever need to.”  She would sweep her brow with a kiss and then return to the task at hand.  Gwallith never noticed how the elf always looked out of her, especially when she left the cavern.  She did not know that Finduilas did lie beside her as she slept, holding her through the night terrors and darkness that plagued her at times.  Finduilas could not undo all of the ensorcellments of the dragon-father, but she could keep them at bay.  She did not hear the elf sing to her quietly through the night to chase the shadow from her mind.   She knew nothing of this, and by the time she awoke, her companion was elsewhere.    

Finduilas worked hard, tirelessly.  What she was working for or against, Gwallith did not understand.  But, she knew she was angry and, perhaps, afraid. 

 

****

 

One morning, Gwallith woke near dawn to find Finduilas staring at her most intently.  “Good morning!” she said merrily, but Finduilas did not answer.  Hoping to break through the wall that had arisen between them, Gwallith went to Finduilas and embraced her warmly.  The elf did not move.  She stiffened and barely seemed to be breathing. 

“Do you want to go back?” Intense green eyes stared down into the maiden’s.

“Back where?”

“Among your people.  Your kind.  Do you wish to live among them again?”

Gwallith was immediately confused and a little hurt, was Finduilas trying to send her away, what had she done?  She spoke honestly, “I do not know where they are.  There was strife, that I can now remember.  There were invaders in our land.  I do not recall feeling safe.  We went to another place,” she paused, “but I cannot remember.”  She shivered against darker, more dangerous memories that she could not yet descry. 

Finduilas evaluated her words carefully and heard the truth in them, “do you wish to find a people, as you yourself are, to live among?  There are other dwellings of Men in this land.  Some may not be far.”  She had to give her the chance.  If she wanted to go, she had to choose for herself.  

Gwallith was hesitant and wanted some time to consider.  _To live again among Men?_   It was a sobering thought.  She excused herself to wash and left the cave.  In the early morning light, she wandered and thought.  She returned later to change her dress.  The moments passed slowly and the silence between them was palpable.  At last, she sat down, and began combing her hair, and asked, “would you come with me?  Perhaps we could find a place where the Eldar and Atani live together?”

Finduilas was unsure of such a place, but she had heard bird-rumor of a Haven farther to the south near the edge of the sea.  “Perhaps,” she answered, “but that is not what I offer you.  You are free to go if you wish, Gwallith.  You are not my prisoner.  And if you so wish, I will escort you, where you will, so that you may live as you choose.”

The woman looked at the elf in disbelief.  _Was this the reason for the distance between us? To send me away?_   Gwallith shook her head no and the loose locks tumbled around her.  She decided to speak with the same offer in turn, “if there is aught where you wish to go, among your own kind, where I may not go, you also, are free to go.  And if you like, I will escort you, as a companion, where you will, until you have found your new home.”  What she would do after that she dare not think upon, but the offer was made and she meant it.

This time the elf was taken aback.  She stood up and walked to the maiden, gauging her response carefully, “you would come with me if I choose to go?”

“Or stay with you, if you wish to stay.” Gwallith did not understand how it could be otherwise.  She could not imagine wanting to leave her dearest friend, but if she wanted to go, she would not stand in her way, either.

“Here?” She gesture about the sparse cavern in disbelief.

“Here, if you like, or elsewhere, as you please.”

Finduilas looked about the humble dwelling.  She sighed as she remembered polished marble and granite, bubbling fountains, and all manner of finery.  Nargothrond was the masterwork of both Elven and Dwarven kind.  A peerless kingdom lost to the reek of a wyrm and the filth of _yrch_.  The thought sickened her.  Yet for all of Nargothrond’s glory, there was one thing it lacked, the gentle maiden who sat before her, with hair unbound, and bright eyes. 

Finduilas knelt before the woman as she lifted the comb from her fingers and began to style her hair.  She deftly wove the hair upon her head to make a little circlet before bringing it into a generous, four-strand braid. “Did you know that I used to be a princess?”

Gwallith watched the lovely elf tend to her like a lady’s maid and was a little embarrassed at this revelation, “were you?” She stammered a little, “Is that why you are so beautiful?”  Their eyes met for a moment and the glance was warm.  The elf smiled, which made her even more lovely, if that was possible.  “Finduilas, you are the most beautiful person that I have ever seen in my whole life.”

“You remember very few,” she teased.

“I remember enough to know that!”

She completed the braid and tied it off with a bit of leather.  Glancing around she said, “there is not much here.  This may not be the life you want.”  She was keenly aware that this was no home for a fine lady or a former princess.  It was a rough camp, in her view, fit for an Avar perhaps, but shameful lodgings for a Noldo.

Gwallith was sincere, “It is enough.  You are here, Finduilas, and that is all I want.”

The words were spoken, of her own will, free to choose to stay or to leave.  The elf-maiden’s heart soared, and she pulled her woman close.  “You choose this?  Here?”

“Or elsewhere if you wish!” The woman laughed.

Finduilas released the girl, rose, and turned from her suddenly.  She walked to the small alcove where they had their crafts.  Just a few steps away, but she needed a moment.  She keenly understood what this could mean.

The woman happily followed after her, wrapped her arms about her, and hugged her close, laying her cheek against the taller elleth’s back, “I want this.”  She kissed the tunic, “I want you,” and she caressed the elf-maiden through the light leather.

Finduilas turned in her arms, leaned down until their foreheads nearly touched, and looked into her eyes as she said, “then will you wed me?”

Gwallith was overwhelmed by the moment and could only whisper, “yes . . . yes!” ardently, there was no question, and then she rose upon her toes and kissed Finduilas the fair on her soft, warm, and welcoming lips.  She kissed her again and again until, unbidden, she teased the inner edge of her lips with the tip of her tongue and gained entrance. The elf pulled the woman up firmly against her as she leaned to her.  As the kiss deepened with passion, Gwallith held her close, and Finduilas smoothed her hands down her woman’s sides, then behind her to caress her back and buttocks affectionately.  After several moments, they were both left eager and breathless. 

Gwallith plucked at the lacing of her gown and began to loosen the garment.  Finduilas wanted to let her continue, but she stayed her hands.  In a solemn gesture, Finduilas lifted Gwallith’s hands in her own and spoke the blessings of a union, calling upon Varda and Manwë, and then Eru was named.  Gwallith had been taught much of the Valar and the One during her time with Finduilas, she knew what this meant.  They said their parts together as neither was groom. 

Gwallith pulled Finduilas back the few paces to the bed she had left only a short time ago.  Morning had come to its full now and sunlight filled the room, for she took her rest not far from the entrance, unless there was a storm, and the way was shut to protect the cavern and its supplies.   In the gleaming sunlight, the ladies were both golden and lovely, with their long, pretty braids. 

Gwallith again moved to untie the lacings and free herself from the gown.  Finduilas did not stop her and watched the soft leather slip over her body.  Gwallith was a full foot shorter than Finduilas, but well formed.  Her breasts were full and becoming with peach areolas and slightly darker nipples.  A gentle curve in from her ribs led to full hips and beautifully tapered thighs.  Finduilas smiled as the maiden even removed her laced leather sandals from her well-turned ankles and pretty feet.  Gwallith liked to bathe by day in warmer months, rather than in the evening as the elleth was wont to do, and her body was sunkissed.  She was small, but so lovely. 

Finduilas could feel her heart beating quicker.  She unlaced the tops of her boots and slid them from her feet.  Gwallith watched wide-eyed for she could not recall ever seeing the Elda fully unclothed.   There was a reason for this. 

The former princess of the Noldor had her pride, and she was not left unscathed by the attack on Nargothrond.  She had fought like a wildcat, and it left her scarred in more than just spirit.  Though her face was of remarkable beauty with the smooth, even features and bright eyes Elves are known for, her back was scarred as were her arms.  She loosened the closure of her leggings first and slipped them down over her gently-rounded hips and long, lean legs.  She was lily white, for she was always covered.  She opened the closures at her wrists and unlaced her collar and then slowly pulled the tunic from her body.  Willowy, strong, and gracefully proportioned.  Her high, proud breasts were tipped with pale pink that became dusky as the nipples grew taut in the cool morning air.  Her lines were smooth with a long-waisted gentle curve to the soft swell of her hips.  She stepped to her mate, and Gwallith saw the marks on her arms.

Elves are gifted with healing and though it had been but a year since her short-lived captivity, her scars had become white and, mostly, flat and smooth, but they shone against the normal tone of her flesh and any light made them more noticeable.  The sunlight hid nothing. 

Before, this moment, Gwallith had only noticed a fine, nearly invisible line near her right eyebrow as a sign of any former injury.  The elf’s arms left no doubt.  Finduilas had seen battle. 

Gwallith gasped, “how did this happen?”  She reached towards her in concern. 

“My city fell,” was the pained but terse response.

The woman patiently waited for her to continue.  She touched her arm gently and ran her fingertips over the smooth, thin scars unflinchingly.

In a rush of words, she related, “A foolish man gave ill-advice, which my father heeded.  A bridge should have been struck down, but it was left in place.  It led our enemies to our door and gave them a way to our gates.  Many were slain or taken captive.  A great dragon came and took all that remained.”  She struggled not to pull her arm away.

At the word dragon, Gwallith started and flinched.  Finduilas sensed the shadow about her then as she had not in some time and leaned forward to embrace her shoulders and kiss her forehead.   She forgot her own discomfort.

“And you fought there?”

“I did, everyone fought, man, woman, and child.  Many enemies were slain, but not enough, more came, and more after that.  I was seized with others and taken in bonds.  The _yrch_ ,” Gwallith did not know that word and looked at her expectantly, “orcs, are cruel and the captives were beaten.”     

 She took a steadying breath and continued, “But, we were not broken!  That very night, there was a captive rebellion and many of us were freed.  However, I was so different then,” she paused and laughed at herself, and at the memory of her panic, pain, and foolishness.  “I kept expecting a man to come and save me, because that is what princesses do, we wait to be saved.  Those stories live among my people, too.”  She ran her fingertips along Gwallith’s braid, “but I realized later, that I had to save myself.  Though I evaded the _yrch_ for a time, I was recaptured the next day and surely going to be slain.  However, I had not lost hope and plotted against my captor.  When he tied me poorly, I was able to cut myself free, and slay him instead.  But,” and at this word, she lowered her hands, and then turned, “I was left with these.” 

Her back was crossed with jagged looking scars.  These were scars she could not touch or soothe with her own hands and only through her spirit and will were they mended.  They were not as neat and clean as the scars on her arms, which were acquired from fending off the edge of bladed weapons.  Cloth, from her cloak, hastily bound about her arms made for poor bracers.  She had defended herself, for a time, with the shield of a fallen warrior but caught more than one glancing blow about the side of it.  “I was not prepared for battle, and fine gowns make poor armor although the gems did deflect a few blows,” she quipped lightly as if the loss of it all did not still pain her.  By way of explanation, “my back received the worst of it when I was recaptured.”

There was silence for a time as Gwallith stared at the marred back of this perfect woman.  She stood in awe and horror imagining what she must have gone through.  It was all she could do to keep from crying.  But, instead of yielding to tears, she ran her fingers over each pale mark and kissed it.  She ached to her core that anyone had dared to harm her and sought to soothe her any way she could.  She kissed across her back all along each scar, even standing up on tip-toe to reach her shoulder blades.  She wrapped her arms around her bride and said, “you are still the most beautiful person that I have ever seen in my entire life.  You are brave and strong and good.”  Finduilas was deeply moved and ran her hands along the maiden’s arms in thankfulness for her acceptance. 

For some time, they stood this way, quietly embracing, but Gwallith became quite aware that her nude form was gently rubbing against Finduilas as she hugged her from behind.  The warmth and softness of her skin against her own bare breasts was beguiling.  Tenderness gave way to playfulness, and she pressed closer to Finduilas and rubbed herself against her gently.  She heard the elf take a deep breath and exhale slowly. 

Gwallith kissed her back again and then moved her hands along Finduilas’ slender form.  She gently cupped a breast and caressed it as Finduilas had once touched her long ago.  This elicited a gasp and then a murmured moan as she continued the light touching.  Her other hand traced over her stomach to just above her mound, hesitating, and, a little shy of a sudden, caressed her hip briefly.  She then moved her hand again towards where the elf’s thighs met.

Finduilas did not move, she could hardly breathe as the questing fingertips brushed against the downy mound and the woman’s small hand cupped it lightly.  Gwallith felt her warmth and was encouraged by her quickened breathing though the elf held so very still.  She dipped a finger between touching her gently, as she would want to be touched, and felt the soft, inner petals which she parted and lightly stroked between.  It was a tenuous touch.  The elleth drew a shaky breath at the intimate caress. 

Gwallith, feeling braver now, cupped the mound against her palm and without rubbing or stroking, gently kneaded the soft, tender area, a little pressure against the sensitive place, before touching again, just lightly, between.  It was a delicate tease and Finduilas felt that her knees were about to give.  Steadfast as she was, she could not easily withstand this. 

Finduilas held the woman’s arms then, to still her maddening caresses, and led her down onto the bedding before she swooned.  Gwallith realized she had the upper hand and was undoing the Elda’s cool composure.  She laughed a little to herself and pushed her bride back into the bedding after they had both settled safely on their knees.  Finduilas laid back and Gwallith slid up, along the sleek furs, to bestow affectionate kisses upon her sweet lips which she then trailed down her neck.  She cupped and caressed her breasts, one and then the other in turn, and kissed each one.  They fit so neatly into her hands.  She cradled and admired them amid her caresses.  As she heard the responses, in soft moans and sighs, she boldly kissed them, open mouthed, taking the nipple of one between her lips she sucked lightly while she reverently fondled the softness of the other.  The elf-maiden was being undone. 

The warm wet kisses on her breasts, followed by the sweet caresses, and the drawing heat of her wife’s mouth made her weak and quicken with longing.  Instinct drove them, and knowing how each felt, Gwallith wanting what Finduilas wanted, she knew that she had to know her completely.  She moved to kiss and tease the right breast with her mouth, and while holding herself on her left arm, she trailed her hand down the firm plane of the elf’s abdomen.  She tickled lightly down the center line, teased over her belly button, and then slipped her fingers lower over the softness of her mound.

She had to be sure and raised her head from her warm kisses to ask, “do you like this?”

The elf only laughed. She reached down with a long, slender arm, and with graceful fingers, pinched the woman’s shapely bottom.  Gwallith gasped a protest, but the elleth patted her affectionately before reaching up to rub and caress her back. Gwallith laughed and nuzzled her breasts playfully.  Emboldened, she dipped two fingers between and gently placed pressure against her.  She heard the gasp and in that moment, her hand was still on her back.  Finduilas responsively pressed up against her.  Gwallith cupped and rubbed her for a few moments.  During this slow caress, a finger dipped between the soft, and now sleek, inner petals and gently explored the vulva up to the sensitive little bud that made her wife cry out if she was any more than feather-light.  The elf continued a slow caress of her lover's back and hip. The woman took note to be extremely delicate, and as she caressed to the slick little entrance and slipped her finger boldly inside, the elf-maiden held fast to her waist.

 Finduilas tensed around her finger and she could feel the hot, wet responsiveness of her wife.  Sensing no reluctance, she slid another finger in beside the first and Finduilas moaned as the fingers slowly moved within her.  Gwallith watched her face as she moved seekingly and caressed her deeply.  Her reaction was enthralling.  Gwallith wanted to touch her, know her, and please her as much as possible.  She was pet, fondled, and coaxed as her bride watched her with parted lips and half-closed eyes. With newfound courage, she employed gently curved thrusts and little twists that made the elf maiden gasp and tremble. 

Learning by response, she studied patiently.  She dipped her head down and placed little licks and sweet kisses upon Finduilas’ pretty breasts.  Gwallith looked upon her again and saw that her pale skin was becoming rather flushed.  She smiled at the sight of her radiant beauty and brought her kisses down to her belly.  Finduilas' hand slid up from her hip and back, as Gwallith drifted down, to pet her braided, flaxen hair.

The elf relaxed her will to the urging of her own body.  She closed her eyes and parted her thighs.  Gwallith withdrew her hand to move and then lie between them.  The knees of the long, slender legs bent up and fell open for her.  Her gentle, seeking hand reacquainted itself with the intimate caress it had just known, and Finduilas murmured with pleasure as the two fingers slipped into her again.  Her body grasped by instinct and her thighs trembled slightly.  Gwallith was struck by her proud beauty of her wife now lying before her, vulnerable and open.  She watched her fingers move, as she made love to her, watched every movement, and heard every trembling gasp the elf made.  She could hardly believe that such a beautiful woman was hers. 

Finduilas felt the ardent gaze and opened her eyes to meet the blue eyes of her bride.  She felt, suddenly in that moment shy, and almost pressed her knees together, as instinctive self-defense, but Gwallith rose up between them, braced on her other arm, and kissed a knee.  She shook her head no and the elf relaxed, somewhat, and opened to her again, hesitantly. 

They watched each other and Gwallith moved her hand.  Two fingers in, curved up, a little pressure, withdrawing, straight in, caressing out, another thrust.  Such movements continued until the elf was panting for breath, but her eyes never left the woman’s.  Gwallith’s thumb, very lightly, brushed against the little bud near the apex of her vulva.  Finduilas cried out; she was so sensitive.  Gwallith touched again, so gently, but Finduilas flinched.  It was almost, but not quite, pain.  The young woman was resourceful, seeking only pleasure for her wife; she withdrew her slick fingers to run the tip of her middle finger, very, very lightly across it.  Finduilas tensed but did not cry out, another gentle touch, then a dip into her followed by a wet and sleek caress.  The elf melted in a tremulous sigh of pleasure, her eyes drifted closed, and she lay back, again relaxed and open for her wife.

Since the angle was different, the woman moved to rise up a bit on one arm and hold herself more to the side on her elbow, slipping that arm under Finduilas’ thigh to allow her to hold on to her at the hip with one hand.  The leverage helped and she kissed and licked the pale thigh at hand while continuing an intimate caress with gentle, teasing thrusts, and deep caresses.  While the wet heat of her wife, slipping along her fingers, was the most obvious sign of her arousal, her scent was alluring.  Gwallith dipped her head and gently kissed her tensed belly then trailed lower. 

Her soft lips just touched the sensitive bud, and then she teased it gently with the tip of her tongue.  Finduilas, who had been caressing and stroking her hair, while speaking soft, beautiful words to her in a flowing, lilting tongue that Gwallith did not fully understand, gasped and got as close as Elves get to cussing.  Gwallith understood enough to know that it was something about the stars and laughed a bit.  She glanced up at her lovely bride to see that all was well.  She had arched back and grabbed the bedding rather than pull her wife’s hair too hard. 

Her hand had gone still during this moment, and she moved it again, slowly but insistently.  She watched.  The elf-maiden was trying to breathe evenly.  Gwallith kissed and licked her inner thigh as she moved.  She felt the elf’s hand again, somewhat calmly, caressing her hair.  She began mumbling sweet Elven words amidst pleasured sighs and rocked gently with the movement of the woman’s hand.  Gwallith began to move more fervently, as her own passion increased, it was no longer touch and tease.  Finduilas grabbed the furs of their bedding again.  Arching her long, graceful body, and grasping the fingers of her lover within her, the elf-maiden was nearly overcome. 

Lowering her head again, Gwallith teased her with the tip of her tongue, upon her most sensitive place, and her wife cussed again, in that Elvish way.  _Poor stars_ , she thought amused, _what have they ever done to you?_    Thrusting more firmly with her fingers now, she captured the little bud between her lips and gently sucked upon it as she continued to lavish sweet torment upon it with the tip of her tongue.  She had to hold on to her hip now in earnest, as Finduilas moved against her, and roll with her motions as she thrust, licked, and gently sucked.  The elf’s movements became frantic as she gasped for air; there were no more words, just sounds and breath.  Gwallith was breathing hard, too.  Never before had she been so excited and the pleasure of her wife was as thrilling as if it were her own.  She murmured her own enjoyment against her intimately, as she thrust rhythmically to her wife’s motions; she licked, sucked, and kissed her wantonly. 

The sea crashed against the shore and the elf-maid was cast upon the sand, awash in the waves, trembling and breathless.  She could not move, nor speak, and scarce could breathe.

Gwallith was not just glistening with elf light either.  She was hot and sweaty, breathy, and a little shaken up herself when the long moment of her bride's climax had passed.  But she laughed, too.  It was exhilarating, and she moved up beside her trembling bride on the bedding, kissed her sweetly, and then rolled onto her back.  Looking up at the stone ceiling, it somehow seemed to sparkle a bit more than she had ever noticed before. 

“Dinaeth fael,” Finduilas said to her then when she had drawn enough breath to again speak clearly.

“Hmmm?”

The elf-maiden took the young woman’s hand in her own and laced her fingers through hers while saying in translation, “generous bride.”

The woman stared up at the ceiling and said, “you deserved it, hiril vuin nîn , after all, you did save my life.”

Finduilas laughed, “indeed, but that was long ago, and you have done much for me in return since then.”

Gwallith was touched and said nothing, remembering all the days and nights, for weeks on end, that Finduilas nursed and tended to her while she was locked in a dark cloud of silence and confusion.  

Finduilas recovered well and quickly for Elves are well-known for their endurance.  She released her mate’s hand, after kissing each finger, and moved to rise.  Gwallith tried to sit up, too, but the elf pressed the lovely young woman back as she rose above her, braced on her right arm.  She said, “meleth nîn, mîr nîn” she murmured as she stroked the pale gold braid and then nuzzled against her wife’s neck and kissed her repeatedly.  “Let me,” she said while caressing her with light touches across her shoulders and then down over the full, rounded mounds of her breasts.  Gwallith laughed because it tickled. 

Finduilas rose up again and smiled, “let me show you,” she continued, “how generous the Eldar can be.”  The light in her eyes was bright and mischievous.  She leaned down and kissed her again, once upon the lips and then again at the base of her throat, and whispered against her sensitive skin there, “did you know, meleth nîn, that we are ambidextrous?”

Her mind was feeling a little cloudy because her wife had reached across her and begun to fondle her right breast as she kissed her, “hmm, what?”

“The Eldar,” she paused again to kiss her and then lowered her head to gently brush her soft lips against the peach-colored peak of her breast.  The tip of her pink tongue darted out and gave the sensitive nipple a little lick, feeling the delicious shiver run through Gwallith, she spoke again, matter-of-factly, as if she had not stopped, “can use both hands equally well.”

The hazy concept occurred to Gwallith as something she should have realized already or noticed, but all she could say at that moment was, “mmmm,” because her wife had started kissing her breasts again and giving them both warm, little, wet licks.  It was an intoxicating sensation, and she was quickly forgetting how to think.

“Let me show you . . .” and her words trailed away into a bevy of kisses and feather light caresses that drove Gwallith quite out of her senses.

 

****

 

The morning of their wedding lasted until early evening, and it was only at the most primitive insistence of their bodies, that they actually needed to eat something, else, that they resumed anything resembling a normal day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2  
> Even though this is an AU, I write my Elf characters within canon parameters. And in canon, sex = marriage. And elf marriage is a great big deal because it entwines the body and the spirit of the partners in an eternal union. So, that’s what I went with here. They both had to enter into sexy times with the full understanding that it was a big deal. 
> 
> Dineth fael means “Generous Bride” in Sindarin and obvious reasons are obvious  
> Hiril vuin nîn means “my beloved lady” in Sindarin  
> Meleth nîn means “my love” - Sindarin  
> Mîr nîn is like saying “my jewel” or “my treasure” - Sindarin
> 
> The language Finduilas is speaking mid-sexxors is Quenya. Quneya sounds a little different from Sindarin, more lilting and sing-song. Quenya sounds like Finnish and Sindarin sounds like Welsh. 
> 
> Elven mons pubis – I’m going to be really honest here, I have no idea, at all, if the Eldar were intended to have pubes. But I imagine, if they did, which I think they probably would, they would be rather soft. So, that’s what I went with. 
> 
> Virginity: Both women are virgins, but hymens are stupid. They’re a biologically unnecessary bump on the road of life, left over from a female's embryonic development, and except for rare situations that require medical assistance, they’re usually not really present in physically active women. Even if they are present, sex does not need to be a traumatic event the first time. 
> 
> Sexuality: In this story, Finduilas is a monogamous bi-sexual female. Niënor discovered, as a teen, that she was a lesbian (although she has no word for it). Maybe her, misunderstood and instinctive, affection for her brother may have meant she could have loved him as a spouse, as she did in the original work, but let's give that a great big Nope! because that's just full of terrible shame and sadness.


	3. Epilogue

Their years together were joyful.  Though Gwallith was fearful of growing old and being a burden to her bright and ever lovely companion, they were happy together for a very long time.  In time, they moved south and found the Havens at the Mouth of Sirion, where Eldar mingled from the fallen realms of Gondolin, Doriath, and even remnants of Nargothrond.  Men of the Atani, too, were not unwelcome.  It was a good place, and a safe place, for some length of time, as mortals know years. 

 Eventually, Gwallith learned of the men from Findulias’ past, and the name of Túrin was not unknown to her, for, as she came to know, after the fall of Glaurung, Morwen was their mother.  She was saddened to have never met him. Finduilas spared telling her the true identity of the man who gave the ill-advice that brought Nargothrond to its ruin _.  Let her think well of him_ , she thought with love, pity, and even forgiveness in her heart.  Gwallith had saved her, too.  Her resentment had died long ago.

 Though Finduilas had indeed saved Túrin, at least from one aspect of his fate, he was unaware of it.  For he never knew that by saving herself and then his sister, that he had escaped the darkest plight of his shadow-enthralled doom, thwarting a design of Morgoth.   Túrin had found a maiden near Brethil, and, almost as an act of penance for failing all the other women in his life, he married and loved her as best as he was able.  She was fair and golden, as Lalaith had been, and for a while, he was happy.  Until the dragon came . . . 

  


****

  


Years passed, and Niënor eventually left the world from an illness, as mortals sometimes do.    Finduilas sought to lay her to rest with a braid of her flaxen hair on high at Túrin’s burial site at Cabed-en-Aras.  For she knew that Gwallith would have loved the brother she never knew and took pity that they had not met in life. 

When Túrin had fallen in righteous battle against the Enemy, he was brought near the place of his greatest deed, the felling of Glaurung, the father of dragons.  A burial mound was made for him near the height overlooking the river.  This deed, at last, completely freed his sister from the ensorcellment. All she had known came to her again without fear or confusion.  With Finduilas, she was made whole, and by the valour of her brother, Niënor was fully redeemed.

 There was a great, tall stone marking the burial site.  Finduilas ran her hand over it while she remembered the man laid to rest there.  And in runes, it was inscribed: TÚRIN TURAMBAR DAGNIR GLAURUNGA ( _Túrin, Conqueror of Fate, Slayer of Glaurung_ ).  She was surprised to see the sub-script: _Here lies also Morwen Eledhwen_.  Knowing now, that Gwallith, would, in some small way, be with her family again, she was glad of it and enshrined the braid at the base of the stone.  Below the last inscription, Finduilas patiently carved the name of NIËNOR GWALLITH in the Cirth script.  She passed her fingertips over the name and sat in silence for a long time as she relived her memories with Gwallith.

  


****

  


Findulias returned to the Havens, but the Third Kinslaying came, and after that deep sorrow, she passed north again to the refuge that had once been a happy home.  Her people had fallen, her wife was gone, and she was weary of the world.  When the Noldor were forgiven at last for their rebellion against the Valar, she forsook her wolfish ways in the woods and went West with the remnant of her people, seeking solace for the loss of her truest love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final Chapter  
> Cabed-en-Aras “Deer’s leap” is the same location as Cabed Naeramarth, but since Niënor did not have her fatal leap and instead lived out a natural mortal life, it was never renamed. It still made sense that Túrin would be remembered there or even brought there and buried by what remained of his friends and family from Brethil. 
> 
> Túrin obviously had unnatural love for the women in his family, particularly his sisters. This story tried to redeem that tragic, quasi-Oedipus, theme somewhat although he did marry a sister-look-alike, because, Túrin. *sighs* The Master of ~~Doom~~ Bad Choices
> 
> In the story of Túrin Turambar, Húrin spoke little of what he had seen to his wife, Morwen, to spare her the sorrow, when they finally met again in F.A. 501; however, in this version, he would be able to say, at least, that their daughter was safe and happy. And Morwen would have been glad of that before she died.
> 
> I guess it's not too bad for a couple of guys, who were literally the downfall of every major Elven Realm in the First Age. First Túrin screwed over Nargothrond, and then Húrin betrayed the location of Gondolin, and finally, numbnuts Húrin, brought the Nauglamír to Doriath. WTG assholes! Freaking Túrin & Húrin! 
> 
> **Elves** : And this is why we can't have nice things.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the artwork of nisiedrawsstuff on tumblr who depicted a strong Finduilas finding and rescuing Niënor.
> 
> Chapter 1  
> Technically, ‘blossoms’ in Sindarin would be spelled Gwalith or Gwalyth, (singular is Gwaloth in Noldorin origin and seemed to be a borrowed word in Sindarin), but I liked it better with the i and the double l spelling.
> 
> Yrch is Sindarin and just means “orcs”, I like that word better than just orc because it sounds more disgusting. Like saying Yuck. Orch is singular form, but so close to just orc, like whatever, right?
> 
> Fëa is a Quenya word and it is the spirit of an incarnate person. 
> 
> Niënor would not know much (if any) Quenya, except perhaps for borrowed words. She would speak the Mannish language, Taliska, but as a noble-woman, also Sindarin. The writing systems in use would be wholly Elven in origin. 
> 
> It is assumed that Taliska is the primary language of the dialogue as Sindarin is usually written as Sindarin. But, they could also speak in Sindarin, so I decided not to make it absolute or clutter the text with always pointing it out. 
> 
> For the purposes of this story, it is assumed the Finduilas could understand and speak Taliska, Sindarin, and Quenya. She would have learned Taliska from her great-uncle, Finrod, who befriended Men from the House of Bëor, or she could have learned it from Túrin.
> 
> I hesitated to even point this crap out at all in the text because I don't want it to be all pedantic, but I wrote this for people who know The Silmarillion well and people who don't. "Common" or "Westron" didn't even exist in the First Age. If it is too pendantic, leave some feedback, and I'll nix it out. Thanks!


End file.
